The Hero's Train
by Yacob
Summary: Spirit Tracks-based one-shot. When war comes to the kingdom of Hyrule, a young man joins the royal army with dreams of glory fierce in his imagination. His train is set to take off in but a short time. Is he ready to be a true Hero?


A loud snapping of weaponry sounded as the duel at hand waged on. On one side there was a young man clad in green, swinging furiously at his opponent. On the other side was a great bear of a man, bearded and hoary but still very formidable. The younger man fought with all his might, slashing and swiping with throbbing arms. The older man, however, repelled each attack with equal vigor, and with hardly any sweat.

"Next!"

Han leaped back from his opponent, still in ready-stance with his lance pointed out, and then rushed to the back of the line. Almost immediately after he started running, the instructor bellowed "Attack!" and the snapping of wooden weapons continued.

Lance leaning on his shoulder, he let his aching arms hang limply beside him and tried to breath deep breaths. He really felt like letting them fall on his knees, but the Guard Captain would have ripped him apart if he saw that. A show of weakness was dishonorable for a hero of Hyrule. He just had to hang in a bit longer. The training room had no clock, but it felt close to leaving-time. Speed drills were killer exercises, but they were only doing them five times each. He had just now finished his fifth, and the rest of the soldiers were still working on theirs. That was plenty of time to catch his breath.

_Crack-Crack! _"To the front," the captain shouted, striking the floor for emphasis.

Everyone rushed to their places and assumed proper postures, backs held high and lances gripped in front of them. Han's arms trembled terribly. The lance wasn't really heavy, but his arms felt like jelly.

"Now that you've all warmed up, we can finally begin working on your technique. Now, practice this."

The young soldier blinked. The captain swiftly brought his lance overhead, stabbed downward, and carried out a sequence of a few other moves after that. He blinked again.

"Go!"

The soldiers around him began the sequence. They all brought their lances up, Han included, but before he brought it down for himself, he took a moment to observe his neighbors' actions. After examining their movements a few times, he realized that after the stab he had to ram the butt up and forwards, twirl the lance back into standard grip, and at the same time draw back into ready-stance. Yes, that seemed like the right form. Going by that hunch, he finished the attack and practiced it fully several more times.

The captain was walking through the rows and observing the soldiers' technique in the meantime. He gave nods to some, short words of correction to others, and for a few he had to adjust their stances or downright repeat the sequence. Because there were so many people training that day (several dozen, Han reckoned) it was taking a long time for the captain to get to him. He was trying to do his moves quickly, but he found himself becoming slower and sloppier as time dragged on. A few times he stopped entirely and leaned over panting while the captain wasn't looking, but those rests did little to improve his performance.

He was in the middle of the attack when the captain finally came to him. He slid back into ready-stance more in focus when he realized he was being observed.

"Let me see."

Without thinking, he charged with the attack exactly as he had been doing. Down stab, reverse jab, twirl, and back. When he finished, however, Han cursed under his breath. He had put almost no effort into that attack.

The captain didn't say anything. He gave an absent nod, turned away, and moved on to the next soldier. Han didn't say anything; he pressed on in his practice like he had been. But while his body repeated the movements, his mind couldn't help but reel in curiosity. He certainly couldn't have already mastered this move. If he hadn't, then why was he not corrected? This was not the first time the captain did that. He never liked it when he did.

For the remainder of the session, they went through nine more grueling techniques. By the time class was ready to end, young Han felt nauseous enough to fall flat on his face. He shakily held his ground, however, as the Captain of the Guard gave his final words.

"You men still have two more sessions left." Body erect, hands clasped behind his back, he swept a severe gaze over every man present. "Technique is important to know, but all of you lack endurance. I'd usually not be so much on that subject, but since this group will be on the next train to the front lines, I simply cannot ignore that. In war, if you tire after two minutes, you die plain and simple. You can have perfect technique, but you will die as easily as any civilian if you move like you did today. We've had enough time for practicing technique." He pounded his fist into his palm. "These last few days will be entirely focused on bringing up your stamina. Dismissed!"

The soldiers flew from the training room like a bright green river out into the halls of the castle. Han was wobbling among them. Several of those who worked in the castle guard turned to different directions, but most were heading for the exit. On his way, he halted when he noticed a mirror on the wall beside him. For no reason at all, he turned and examined himself. Even if he weren't dressed in the green tunic and floppy cap of recruit mandate, his unimpressive stature made it pretty obvious that he was a newcomer in the Army of Heroes. Grinning, he took on a number of ridiculous fighting poses, flexing his meatless arms and brandishing imaginary weapons. Sweat still dripped from the wiry recruit's curly red hair, creeping around his eager brown eyes and sliding down his narrow face.

He soon lost interest and carried on his own way. Looking ahead where the rest of them walked, the strong officers in their tunics and berets, he fantasized about a day when he would be as strong as they. He was a recruit now, as they once were. He would be a hero like them one day soon.

Beyond the castle and its gardens lay the town in front of it. Castle Town. Where the young soldier Han had been living for most of his life. The parade of recruits that he had been walking with quickly dispersed once they were outside the castle gate. Han, tired as all gets out, decided to take it little more slowly on his way home. After all, the first thing Gwayne was going to do was give him some heavy task that required more strength than he currently had. As he turned the knob to walk into Gwayne's family shop, even then he was thinking of ways to convince him to lessen his workload.

The musty little front room glittered with dust as sunshine beamed through the open door. Han closed it behind him and hobbled wearily up to the counter. And of course Gwayne was standing there, smirking at him in that half-playful, half-ominous manner that made him so creepily likable.

"Good training, I expect?" the storekeeper greeted, rapping his fingers absently upon the counter top.

Han approached the counter, idly digging his fingers beneath his cap, and sighed. "Yeah, as good as training can be. Which basically means rough and exhausting."

"Good, good. That means you'll be ready when you're out to the fields."

"Uhhhh-huh," Han nodded. "But he still says we're lacking endurance, so the last couple sessions'll all be about speed and stamina."

"Sounds tough."

"Hoo, you have no idea…."

The door in the room's back corner flew open. Han's eyes whipped in that direction. A young boy carrying a whole shed's-worth of tools came casually walking up to Han.

"Home finally? Awesome, now you can go fill up the well-"

A worn old bucket flew into Han's arms. "Okay then-"

"and restock the shelves-"

A heavy box crashed into his grip, resounding with a nervous string of glass sounds.

"and tighten the door hinge and fill the lamps and clean the chimney and…."

While the boy was naming out chores and throwing their related tools at Han, the soldier-in-training's arms started throbbing again, causing him to lurch forward and nearly drop everything in his grasp. "Hey, hey, hey, one at a time! I can't carry everything."

The boy leaped. "Sorry, Han!" He ran over to him at once and helped him lower the heavier objects onto the floor. When that ordeal was done, Han sighed in relief. "Thanks."

"Robert, make yourself useful and do those chores I gave you," said Gwayne. "_All _of them."

The boy looked at Gwayne indignantly. "Then what's Han gonna do?"

"He's sweeping the kitchen."

"So I have to do everything else?"

"Han's too tired to be lugging around all that junk you brought down. So, since you went through all that trouble bringing it, you might as well go ahead."

Scowling, Robert snatched up the tools on the floor and stomped away, slamming the door as he exited. That lazy brat. Always trying to throw his bulk on Han's shoulders, tired or otherwise.

"Goodness, Han." The man sighed and shook his head. "You gave me attitude like that all the time back in the day, but I kinda expect that from an orphan boy. But from my own son…."

Han grinned. "Ah, that's just how kids are. He'll grow out of it no time."

"You think so?" Gwayne pulled a broom out from under the counter. "Well, I know that you won't give me lip. Catch!"

One instant, Han held his arms out in front of him. The next instant, after the broom decided to fly into his face as opposed to his hands, he had them tightly clutched around his bruised nose, muffling his shouts of anguish.

Obviously not caring, Gwayne laughed riotously. "Aren't those lances kinda like that broom? I'd have thought they'd teach you to catch."

Growling, Han immediately stopped whimpering and shot into soldierly posture. Though not without wiping his palm against his nostrils one more time.

Gwayne chuckled softly. "Sorry, boy. No blood, right?"

Han turned his palm up, glanced at it, and said, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright, now get to work."

After swiping the broom off the floor, he made for the kitchen where he would start his sweeping duties. Of course he would be made to sweep everything else in the building since there was hardly any dirt in the kitchen at all. Surely enough, after sweeping for a half-hour, he was ordered to sweep the front room, the bedrooms, and the storeroom. Everything to keep Han hopelessly busy until dinnertime.

While cleaning the storeroom, which was an especially nasty place that Gwayne only made him clean if there was nothing else for him to, he was visited by Robert.

"Oh, you're done with everything?" Han asked him.

The boy shook. "Naw, just taking a break, is all."

"Oh, well then what's up?"

Robert's face turned grave for a moment. He did not say anything; he simply walked up to Han and looked him in the eyes.

"Uh…." Han was very uncomfortable. "Is something wrong?"

His expression changed instantly as he clasped his hands together like a beggar. "Han, you just gotta teach me. I wanna know how to fight too."

Han's chest eased in relief. "Hey, I would if I had the time, but that's not my decision. Your papa says I have to clean this place first."

"Well, I asked him to let you off, but since he said no-"

"You mean, because he threatened you to do my work for me."

"Shut up! I am _not _lazy, geez!"

"_Tch_, yeah, sure. Still, no break for me, so you're gonna have to wait another day."

"But you only have three more days!"

"Aw, Gwayne won't make me work that much. Just wait, okay?"

Han turned his back to boy to continue his sweeping. Robert's grumbles were audible.

"Gee, some hero you are!" Robert taunted as he threw a soft punch at Han's backside.

"Hey!" Han spun around and playfully brought up his fists. "If you want to learn to fight so bad, you might end up learning the hard way."

Robert brought up his fists as well. "Bring it on!"

"Sure! But after I'm done sweeping."

"Aw, come on!" Robert started swinging wildly at him, provoking Han to start defending himself. Their little sparring session lasted until finally Han jabbed Robert in the belly with his broom, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to stumble backwards.

"Aha! If that were my lance, you'd be dead!" Han pointed oh-so-victoriously.

Clutching his bruised tummy, Robert gasped, "No fair!"

"Hey, fighting isn't fair. The enemy definitely doesn't fight fair, so why should I?"

Robert turned and grumbled on his way out the door. But just before he left, he said, "You better teach me some of those moves before you go."

"I told you, there'll be lots of time."

The boy stood there silently for a time. "It's gonna be weird without you always getting in trouble around here."

Han chuckled. _He _always getting in trouble? "I'll come back as soon as the war's over."

"When'll that be?"

"I don't know. Probably not too long, though."

"…Okay." Robert left without another word.

At the end of the day while he lay in his bed, tired from all his strenuous duties, Han's gaze was focused completely on the green tunic hanging from his door rack. The moonlight streaming from his window illuminated the uniform with a milky white grandeur. He, the bumbling shop worker Han, now a hero-in-training: that very thought, along with the dreams that followed, lifted him up in a way that no compliment could ever match.

However, Han knew that he couldn't let these feelings conceit him. If basic training had done nothing else, it had most obviously shown him how small he was in comparison with the other soldiers. He had to be as good as them, or better if possible. So as he began to fall into slumber, he determined that from the next day forward he would train himself to even greater extents. Extents that were worthy for only a true hero.

xxxx

Han lingered in the castle courtyard. Leaning against the wall, he observed a group of officers sparring out in the open. Their movements were swift and precise, strong and consistent. He pounded his fist against the wall, growling angrily.

Han had overslept that morning. When Robert finally woke him up and he realized that he was late for training, he hurriedly pulled on his tunic and made a mad dash for the castle. When he came to the training room, he tried to walk back into the line, but the captain stopped him and scolded him for his "sluggardly resolve". As punishment, he made him do two hundred push-ups, and he would not be allowed to join the class until he finished. He sent him to the corner of the classroom, and right as Han lowered himself for the first push-up, the captain roared, "What kind of 'push-up' is that?" at which point he dropped onto the ground and did five noticeably more refined push-ups as an example. Han tried his best to do it correctly, hard as it might have been.

By the time training was over, he had barely done thirty.

It was beyond humiliating when Han ran out of the room after the captain dismissed his group. Part of him still wanted to run, but Han didn't want to keep avoiding them. He continued to watch the officers spar, and all the while his heart clenched in disgrace.

Han retold his experience when he got back to the store, while he and Gwayne were alone in the store front.

"Boy, we all humiliate ourselves," Gwayne said. "Why, that captain of yours couldn't have always been as big as he is."

"I know. But I've been training for, what, a month or so? I'm hardly any stronger than when I started."

"You'll get there one day. You just got to keep trying."

Han's voice softened. "Maybe I should _start _trying…."

"Say again?"

Before Han responded, the front door opened with new customers. The two men turned to greet these visitors, and they saw a pair of people unlike any other they were used to seeing.

A fair young woman was pushing an old man in a wheelchair up to the counter. The first image that came to mind when Han looked at the old man was that of a rat. Shortness, whiskers, gray hair, buck teeth, he had all the right features save for a tail. A truly unusual visitor.

"Well, this is a quaint little place you've picked out, Shelly," the rat-man lauded, eyes like a child's darting about. "I've heard all about family shops like these, but I've never gotten to see one with my own eyes."

Gwayne smiled at the old man's amusement. "You like what you see, good sir?"

"Of course, good shopkeeper!" The man rolled his head around in every direction in his curiosity. "Why, it hearkens me back to the old pirating days, when Miss Tetra and the rest were always sacking places like these clean!"

The man broke out into riotous, cackling laughter while Han and Gwayne were both staring at him strangely.

"Oh, I apologize," the old man said, apparently noticing their concern. "I personally never sacked a store. No, I was the swabbie; I just _swabbed _the decks all day!" He cackled again. "But anyway, I should buy something. A trinket of a sort I would probably find nowhere else. Do you have such trinkets?"

"We have a finely crafted vessel sitting in the backroom," Gwayne replied. "It's a little expensive, I should warn you."

"Oh, that's not a problem. You'd be surprised how a rupee-a-day accumulates over years like mine!"

"All right. Han, bring out the big one!"

Han groaned. "Me? Why?"

"Just do it, Hero-boy."

Han ambled off to the storeroom and searched among the shelves for that mildly pricey vase. He bent down on his heels and saw it hiding on the floor beneath the bottom shelf. He pulled it out, blew off some dust, and carried on with his delivery. On his way back to the counter, however, he froze when he caught a snippet of conversation from the other side of the door.

"He's a big dreamer, that boy," Gwayne was saying. "He's taking the green and charging on."

"Hmm, all after seeing those 'Army of Heroes' posters?" The rat-man rumbled.

"Yeah, that's the heart of it, I guess."

"Hoo, that poor child. Throwing his life on a spear for 'heroism'."

"Well someone's gotta do it."

"But calling their likes 'heroes'? Hoo, I knew a _real _hero back in my day. When he fought, he fought monsters and villains! Not some angry peasants! That, good sir, is what wise men call 'cowardice'."

Gwayne's voice sharpened. "Calling my boy a coward? Not one for manners, huh, you old rat?"

"If that boy's not crazy then he's been horribly hoodwinked by the royals! They're the only ones that could make a young man go out and kill himself!"

"And what makes you think he'll kill himself, just out of curiosity?"

"What makes me think? Why that's…." The rat-man hesitated. Confused, Han pressed his ear to the door. Finally, the man said, "Shelly, let's go."

Han thrust the door wide open, resounding viciously against the wall. "Hey!" he yelled. "Aren't you going to finish?"

The man whispered something, and the woman hurriedly carted him out, slamming the door behind with all eagerness.

"Han," Gwayne warned, "if you even think about going after them..."

Han, of course, was not going fling himself into Gwayne's unbridled wrath. Thus, he forced his rage down and tried to go on with his business. When his chores were all done, Han did a strange thing once afternoon rolled around. He decided that he would take a stroll through town. It was approaching sunset at that point. Orange sunlight darted between some buildings while others lay in shadow. It was an unusual walk for Han, but with all the turmoil he had endured that day, he had to do something different. It was a vain assumption, but maybe fresh air would help him relax.

That old man just came up to him and insulted him like he was nothing. Didn't he see his uniform? Didn't he know a Hero of Hyrule when he saw one? Apparently, he was one of those fools who just hated the army because they hated the war. Yes, that must have been it. He acted as if it was all about dumb boys being "hoodwinked". That line especially riled him. He was tempted to rip that rat to pieces, even if he was in a wheelchair. But he couldn't let his anger steam that way: he wasn't likely to ever see that codger again anyway. If he did see him, though, then he would be glad show him a piece of his mind. He wanted to convince that old blow-hard of how wrong he was. He didn't even finish what he had to say. Likely out of fear, he figured, and that definitely showed something.

The crowds were thinning at this late hour. The people who were still out were likely preparing to turn in for the night. Han didn't typically give second glances to strangers, but for some reason he did as he walked through one of the squares. He froze in his tracks once he realized who he saw. The woman that was pushing that old man around was sitting along one of the fountains. But the man wasn't with her. Han ran over to her. When the woman saw him, she leaped up in shock.

"Uh, ma'am," Han started when he reached her. "Uh…you're name's…Shelly? Wasn't it?"

"Please, don't be mad," she immediately started off. "Niko can be harsh sometimes, but he's not as crotchety as you think."

So Niko was his name. "So he's only that way towards soldiers, huh?"

"Well…you're the only soldier he's seen so far."

"So where is he?"

Shelly shifted in exasperation. "You don't need to see him!"

"No, no, no, I don't want to hurt him." Well actually he did, but that was best kept to his own fantasies. "I just want to hear what he thinks."

"Is that really necessary? Are you so obsessed with what everybody thinks about you that you'd go pester a frail old man?"

Suddenly, Han drew himself up and crossed his arms. The look on his face could only be described as stone-stubborn. "Say all you want, I'll still follow you back to him."

Shelly stared at Han in disbelief for a time. Finally, she sighed and said, "Fine, follow me."

She led him the town's train station. Shelly said that she had left him there so he could watch the next train pull in. As they drew closer, however, they found a huge crowd of people assembled around the tracks. Even stranger still was that they were all silent as death. Curious, Han pushed his way to the front parts of the multitude and saw for himself what the commotion was.

A large transport car sat open on the tracks. A long line of officers stood perpendicular to it. The first soldier, the one right next to the car, was handed a large object wrapped in a thick cloth material. The first soldier handed it to the second one, and the second soldier handed it to the third, and so on as far as the line stretched. Those objects kept falling in the first soldier's hands systematically, so there was never a time where the soldiers had nothing to carry.

Han was absolutely sure that he saw part of a recruit's cap sticking out of the cloth.

He looked down the edge of the crowd and incidentally found Niko among them. His look was especially cold as he watched the procession. Of all the places! And of all the things going on... He couldn't do anything while this was going on. He hated it, but that was the way it was. He hurried away from the scene as fast as reverently possible.

The events of that day made a good night's sleep difficult to achieve. The bad session. Niko. That horrid assembly by the station. Han looked at his recruit's uniform again. There was no moonlight to make it glisten that night.

xxxx

"You are all starting to improve, but you still must train harder than you do now."

Han was shaking. If his limbs were on fire, then it wouldn't have surprised him. When would the captain stop talking?

"In war, you can never know the enemy's true strength. Though Hyrule may technically have the superior fighting force, that does not mean that you will all live and they will all crumble at your feet. You are in an Army of Heroes. You fight for your kingdom's safety and values, and if you come back alive, then you will be truly worthy of that title. Remember and apply all that you've learned once you step off that train, gentlemen. Dismissed!"

Han exited the usual way at a slow, restful pace. He managed to make it to class on time that day, but the training was brutal either way. When he came to the mirror on the wall, he examined it again. He was still panting heavily. Sweat dampened his tunic, making it cling to his body. It accentuated his already-feeble appearance. Sighing angrily, he continued on his way until he reached home.

"Tired, Han?" Gwayne asked as soon as the young recruit walked in. "You can have the day off. You've earned it."

Han shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Give me something hard to do. One that'll make me _really _tired."

"Ah, I see. Well, you can clean out the chimney. It's blacker than night, and I want you to make it sparkle."

"Deal."

He got to work immediately. Getting the sweeper and the ladder, he took to the store's roof and started the process. The soot was incredibly thick. It would have been best to do the job with a bit of restraint, but Han was thrusting the sweeper wildly into the chimney. So much so, that a black cloud rushed into his face. The soot stung his eyes and drove him into a coughing frenzy. It distracted him so much that he dropped the sweeper into the chimney. When he finally cleared his face of the ashes, he pounded the roof and cursed audibly.

His arms throbbed terribly at that point. He managed to get down the ladder safely, but he had no intention of getting the sweeper and climbing back up.

"Gwayne," he groaned as he trudged back inside. "I don't think I'm up for chores after all."

"Well that's disappointing." He frowned slightly. "You wanna go rest, then?"

Han's teeth clenched, but he willed himself to stay calm. "Yeah. I think I'll turn in for today."

"Fine."

Han found himself lying in bed once again. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he remained in his room through evening.

His door creaked open. Robert's little head poked in. "Hey, Han. Supper's ready."

He tilted his head slightly up. "I'm not hungry."

Robert looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah." His head dropped back down. "I'm gonna sleep."

"Well…don't oversleep for the train."

Han hesitated. "…Yeah…good night."

The door closed, leaving Han all to himself again. His eyes once again looked to the soldier's green tunic. He shut them immediately, and tried to fall to sleep. His aches from the past three days still persisted. Aches and pains that were both physical and mental.

xxxx

Han was overwhelmed at the memory of Robert sobbing against his stomach, and of Gwayne patting his shoulder in good luck. Their final gestures were simple yet poignant. Though he was never Gwayne's son, he treated him back there as if he always were. His belly groaned apprehensively. He had been preparing for this day for longer than a month. That month felt like hardly any time at all.

Han was squeezed in a train car crowded with a hoard of other soldiers. They were all backed against the walls, leaving a giant amount of leg-room in the center. The car was bustling with noise and laughter. Though some of the officers and younger recruits kept silent the whole time, everyone else was bragging and carousing as best as they still could. The activity made Han surprisingly eager to join in. He turned towards where the bulk of the conversation was occurring and listened eagerly. His green-clad comrades were a funny bunch. Their jabs at the extravagant were every bit as humorous as the mundane. Han could relate to all of that, but he never added any of his thoughts. He wasn't a very comedic person, and just randomly mentioning something about his own life didn't seem like a comforting idea around these men.

The conversations went on for a time Han could not recall. By that time, he had begun losing interest. Indeed, his comrades did not really seem interested in him, so why should he? He sighed as he realized he had no idea how long the train ride would last. He figured it would be a long journey considering where the battlefield was, but he didn't think he would be this bored.

"Geez Louise!" exclaimed an officer with his face against the window. "That's the fifth yellow sign he didn't blow the whistle on! What's that engineer doing up there?"

The other officer sitting next to him craned his head towards the same window. "Anybody wanna check on the guy?"

The officer did not speak with any obvious authority, as the other soldiers continued to flap their lips without a care. The officer sighed, and Han just barely heard him mutter. "Bunch o' tools..."

Without any thought whatsoever, Han sprung into soldier-stance and said, "Let me do it, sir!"

Needless to say, his outburst drew the attentions of every man in that car. He met eyes with the bothered officers, who looked absolutely confounded at that moment. Fierce chuckles erupted from the crowd. The officer said, "It's no big deal, recruit. Don't get too worked up."

Han turned red as he realized that they were all laughing at him. Head hung shamefully low, he fell back against the wall and began to slide.

"Hold it, recruit," burst the officer who first made the complaint. "Go out there and tell the engineer that his officer expects attentiveness. His train's just right out that door, so it's perfectly safe."

He immediately flew back to his feet and nodded graciously. After hurriedly tip-toeing through a sea of shifting legs, he managed to get a hold of the door handle. The sliding door had trouble budging; Han was silently panicking in dread of further humiliation. Thankfully, the door slid open fairly quickly after some effort. He quickly passed through and slammed it shut behind him.

The wind pulled wildly at his hair as the train chugged onward. Han was glad that the only things he could hear were the wind and the train. Still leaning against the door, he slowly slid downward until his rear lay flat on the ramp. Yes, just the wind and the train. The wind felt nice as opposed to that stuffy train car. The train's noises seemed almost hypnotic.

A soft whistling melody flowed beneath the blasting winds. Han thought he was imagining it at first, but the melody slowly grew louder. His eyes widened in realization. He leaped across the bridge connecting his car to the train. When he got to the engineer's panel, he saw that there was no engineer. Han paled when he realized what this meant. But then he remembered the music. It sounded like it was coming from above the car. He hurried back to the car and directed his sights to the roof. It was hard to tell exactly, but it felt like it was coming from up there.

"Hey!" Han shouted. "Is the engineer up there?"

No response. He cursed angrily, realizing that the wind was probably drowning out his voice. If he wanted to be sure that the engineer was up there, he had to look for himself. He turned his sights towards the rail on the ramp's edge. Clutching the eaves tightly, he carefully lifted one foot onto the rail. Realizing the importance of this next step, he gripped the eaves even tighter as he shifted his weight onto his first foot, lifting the second foot to join it. Finally planted upon the rail, he raised his body high enough so that he could see over the roof.

A short slender man sat cross-legged on top of the car, blowing into a pan-flute without the slightest bit of concern. His clothing, a striped overcoat matched with a red cap that covered messy yellow hair, distinguished him as the train's one-and-only engineer. Han called out him repeatedly once he saw him, but all his attempts failed. It seemed that he had no other choice. The hairs on his neck prickled in protest, but he had already come this far. Darn it, he couldn't go back and tell them he couldn't do it! His body was still over the ramp, so if he fell, he would only bruise his bottom. Mustering up his courage, he bent his arms into a ready position and, after taking a long, deep, wishful breath, leaped off the rail, pushing his arms away from the roof and launching himself upward. He managed to land belly-flat on top of the train car.

Han did not dare try to rise to his feet. He crawled cautiously over to where the engineer was loafing. He came up to him and poked him hard in the shoulder. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The engineer dropped his pan flute, wincing at the shock of the sudden intrusion. "W-W-What're you doing up here?"

Han growled. "I just asked that question! This isn't about _me_, this is about how you're being completely useless right now! Who in the world's supposed to be driving the train, huh? Apparently not you, seeing how you've been up here playing music the whole time!"

The engineer's face, an old rugged spectacle framed by a beard that was as unruly as his head hair, tightened in displeasure. To the young soldier's great surprise, he leaped easily to his feet and towered threateningly over him. Though merely a civilian, his look was so fierce and determined that it might as well have belonged to a mighty warrior. "I've rode these tracks for thirty years, soldier. In those thirty years, I've never had any incidents of any sorts. You think I'm useless? Really, now?"

"Then why're you up here and not driving the train?"

The engineer placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. "For goodness' sakes, boy. It's a _train_! It's not going to fly off the tracks if I ignore it for two minutes! This stretch of track goes on for at least five miles. I'll get back to my station when I need to. So why don't you get back into the car and quit worrying."

Han let his head fall again. There he was, literally on his knees before a train engineer. He wondered how those officers would react to this; it would probably make a pretty funny story. Frustrated, he pounded the roof with his fist. He drew his feet up around himself, turned his back to the engineer, and sat there cross-legged in boiling silence. What was he doing on top of a train? What was he doing _on _a train, for that matter? His fists were clenched and trembling. He wanted to pound on the ground again and again, but the thought of those soldiers hearing him kept him still.

"Well," said the engineer after a while, "you look pretty angry. Probably not at me so much as at someone else, am I right?"

Han felt sick to his stomach. "You have no idea."

The engineer dropped down right beside him. "Hmm…. I've seen a lot of scared boys like you board this train. Drafted, expecting to die as soon they step off..."

Han forced himself to chuckle. "I wasn't drafted. I joined by choice."

"That's bold."

"Well, being a hero sounded a lot better than working in the shop for the rest of my life." He laid his chin on his chest and began to observe his tunic.

"The Army of Heroes…the hero part really appealed to you, I see."

"Yeah. I trained at the castle for weeks, thinking I'd be 'heroic' in no time." He sighed. "But I was just imagining things. I wasn't that good in training; I wasn't being anything. It took some push-ups and an angry old man to make me wake up finally."

The engineer chuckled. "Back when I was still an apprentice, I knew an old man who always told stories about a hero he was supposedly good friends with. Saving damsels, helping innocents, fighting monsters, this fellow sounded pretty heroic."

"Yeah, it does. And right now I feel like an idiot for dreaming about being like that. I'm not strong or brave."

"You were brave enough to climb up here on your own."

"Well…I kinda did that…" without any other choice, he wanted to say. But the engineer wouldn't understand that, so he held his tongue. "But I'm not strong. How can you have a weak hero?"

The engineer grinned. "I can tell you for sure that it's entirely possible."

Han raised a curious eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Just me. I may not look it, but I know a thing or two about heroism. It's not a difficult thing to understand. Honestly, it's really just about whether a good person can get it in their mind to be courageous-or brave, or whatever you wanna call it."

Han looked warily as the man placed a soft grip over his shoulder. "You probably did pick a bad place to begin your career, but you're still young. If you want to be a hero, start by calming down and not being afraid. You'll die out there only if you let it be."

The man, finally letting go, fell flat on his back and continued to blow notes into his flute. Han fell beside him and gazed at the rolling clouds in the sky as he lay there. The sounds of the train were as boisterous as ever, and the pan flute sang a beautiful song. It was an odd and incredible thing; Han felt significantly lighter now that he had talked to this engineer. An odd little man. Maybe Han was just imagining things again, but this guy really seemed as if he knew what he was talking about. Starting by not being afraid…. Starting by being courageous.

Han did not initially know how he would deal with his time on the battlefield. His own fantasies about fighting and heroism were brutally whisked away once the reality of his position set in. But he felt much more calm now. Perhaps it was time to start over.


End file.
